A Friendly Visit
by Kuroneko0489
Summary: Bea pays Mitch a visit after the incident on the Katherina. This is something I left out of Love, Your Bastards, so I thought I'd write it separately.


The streets of Dunwall are sleek and wet, glistening under the streetlamps. It is eerily quiet; the buildings block out the usual sounds of the river here, and with curfew in place, only the men of the City Watch roam underneath the blanket of gray above.

Two men guard the gate, though they can hardly be called men. They are boys with sharpened wooden sticks and rocks as their only weapons. Sure, they've stolen, cheated, robbed - but none have ever faced a real enemy. The Lower Watch Guard on the left will be lucky; he will not have to fight tonight, but the guard on the right, the one called "Mitch" will die a messy and painful death, dropping to the dirty ground with nothing but horror in his glassy eyes.

Bea waits inside, spying on the two guards in silence - a rare change from her normal, playful self. She knows that this is not the time to play. She is on a mission, and she must not fail.

The slaughter is still fresh in her memory - green acid on her skin and in her eyes, the burning, the screams; they were scared, children up against the most ruthless killers in Dunwall. Children against monsters that rose from the river, nothing but blood on their minds. Bea has to smile at that. How foolish they were. How foolish _she _was.

Tonight, she will be the killer and Mitch, the fool. Mitch is the reason that all but four of her family remains. Mitch is the reason for the terror and the burning. _Mitch_ is the reason that the smell of blood - the blood of her own kin - still fills her nostrils, as though the slaughter continues around her.

The petty thievery, the nights spent breaking into buildings for shelter, the laughter and the play, are over for Bea and the traitorous Mitch. A year of fun together led to this.

Bea grips her saber, putting her hand on one of the boxes in the warehouse. She is tempted to make a joke - something to ease the fear in her - but for the first time, her head is blank. It is only the plan she remembers, and it has chased her laughter away.

Bea grunts, pushing her small frame against the wooden crate. It is heavy, but it slides easily, the contents inside shattering as the box hits the ground. Bea's attention is back to the guards. They have turned toward the warehouse, and she watches as they open the gate, the unknown one who stood on the left, slipping through the opening. Mitch closes the gate again as the guard enters the warehouse to investigate.

The blue light from the guard's lantern sways back and forth as he walks, and Bea can hear him breathing heavily. He passes her now and notices the box.

"Dammit," Bea hears him say. "I hope they don't take this out of our pay." He bends down to pick up the box, but changes his mind after it splits open, glass scattering over the floor. "Fuck it," he says, sighing. He turns to leave, but before he can take a step, she is on him.

As the blood floods from his throat, he stumbles into the boxes, knocking a few more over, and Bea watches the bubbles pop from the slit through his neck as the Watch guard struggles to breathe.

"Ames, you in here breakin' shit?" The familiar voice fills Bea with cold loathing. The fool arrives.

Mitch is tall and thin, large ears, large nose. Red blotches and bumps cover his face, which he never did care to wash. "Ames?" he says. Ames's lantern is on the floor, having, thankfully, not exploded when it hit the ground. Bea picks it up, and Mitch stops, spotting a shadow on the wall.

"Is that you, Ames?" says Mitch, inching forward. There is fear in his voice. He nears the broken boxes now, and Bea calls out.

"Let's play a game, Mitch."

Mitch jolts to a halt.

"Who - who - " he stutters. Bea emerges from behind the boxes, shining the lantern light on her face. She wears the same clothes she wore during the night of the slaughter, splattered with the blood of her dead family. Realization creeps onto Mitch's face. "Bea."

"Mitch," Bea says coldly. "Catch."

The blue light swirls as it flies through the air, and Mitch, dropping his own lantern turns to run - or, is he going to catch it? He decides on running, but it is too late, and the glass shatters, its blue contents shooting outward, growing into a blinding, orange fireball. The other lantern catches as well and goes up into flames. The body dances and sings, swatting its torso and arms in jagged, frantic motions as its legs dance as though possessed. It falls to the ground, attempting to smother the fire attached to its skin.

Bea helps, using her jacket to smother some of the flames, and soon, a smoking and screaming monster lies before her. It cries incoherently.

"You ain't goin' nowhere, yet," Bea says, looking down at him. She kicks him, making his screams grow louder. He attempts to wriggle away from her. Bea takes out her saber.

"So, what do I cut off first, huh?" She drags her blade over his crisp and raw flesh. Still, he cries. Bea stops at his lower torso, wondering if he'll even feel anything with all the pain from the fire. She slashes a few times, making them deep - then she takes a few more slashes. Oh yeah, he feels it.

"Guess I'll have to pay ya in coin from now on," Bea says. She laughs as though it is the funniest joke she has ever heard, watching Mitch squirm on the ground like a lame worm.

Once Mitch's wriggling ceases to entertain her, she goes for the face, slashing blindly. She lets him scream, but soon his cries become quieter, changing into moaning.

She could finish him off now. She _should_. But Bea stares at the pathetic thing by her feet, and bends down, taking him by the arms.

His cries become more frantic again as Bea drags him along the floor, taking him outside and through the gate. She drops him onto the street, and the squirming starts again.

"You better hope you die tonight, Mitch," says Bea. "They'll find you in the morning." Mitch's mind is too filled with pain to understand her words, but she is satisfied.

Bea's satisfaction turns to glee as she turns and leaves, her leather shoes squishing over the wet cobblestone, and as Mitch gets farther and farther away, Bea cannot help but put her energy into skipping through the rain, her fine clothes soaked with water, splattered with blood, and smelling of smoked meat.

"...More like smoked Mitch," Bea says, chuckling.


End file.
